


all the time, all the time (i think of you all the time)

by tamquams



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alive Noah Czerny, Alternate Universe - No Magic, M/M, Ronan Compliant Language, Tutor Ronan Lynch, well. mostly. but i digress, yes you read that right! a tutoring au where RONAN is the tutor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: “I can help you,” Ronan repeated, more forceful this time. The divot between his brows softened. “Jesus, why didn’t you just ask?”Because I hate you, Adam thought.Because you hate me.Because some strange, masochistic part of me is in lo—“I’m not very good at asking for help,” Adam admitted, and it was as much the truth as anything else he might have said.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 112
Kudos: 378





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

> hi! hope you're all doing well and staying safe! and i hope you enjoy this :)

In retrospect, it was possible that Adam had made a mistake.

Not that he would ever admit to it. All things considered, he was pretty bad at admitting when he was wrong, especially to himself. Whereas most people told themselves the truth and lied to others, Adam preferred to lie to everyone, himself the most. He had read somewhere that you lied to people when you couldn’t trust them with the truth, but he preferred not to think about what that implied about his feelings toward himself.

Still, though, it wasn’t particularly difficult to realize that he had been wrong this time. His logic had been faulty — a rarity for Adam, who relied on logic to keep himself alive — and there was nobody to blame but himself, try as he might to find anyone else to pin it on. His teacher, maybe, or his parents (they were an easy target for placing blame), or, if he was really stretching, Gansey.

That wasn’t fair, though, because Gansey was nothing but supportive, if a bit tone-deaf. “There’s no shame in getting a B,” Gansey was telling him in that voice of his that managed to be both encouraging and condescending all at once. “I got a B once, in Broward’s trigonometry class. And Ronan gets B’s all the time.”

“Yes, because _that’s_ comforting,” Adam snapped, shooting a glare at Gansey. “Yeah, I feel so much better knowing that Lynch and I can attend community college together.”

Gansey huffed good-naturedly. “One B is not going to send you to community college, Adam. Your transcript is impeccable. Any university in the country would be happy to have you.”

“I’m not worried about being _rejected_ ,” Adam grumbled, rubbing one hand roughly against the back of his neck. “But there’s no use in being accepted if I can’t afford it, and I need a perfect GPA for a full ride.”

Gansey considered this for a moment. He opened his mouth once, then closed it again, as if he had realized just in time that whatever he meant to say would just make Adam more upset. Finally, he settled on, “Have you asked for extra credit?”

“Extra credit,” repeated Adam forcefully. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, hard. “In _art_. I don’t have _time_ to do extra credit for art class.”

“Hm,” hummed Gansey as he removed his glasses and began to clean them with the bottom of his shirt. He somehow managed to make even that action look dignified. “Well, you could always ask Ronan for help.”

“You’re kidding,” Adam said. They had just reached the Pig, but he began to back away, shaking his head at his friend. “Oh my God, how could you even _say_ that?” Mockingly, he repeated, “ _Well, you could always ask Ronan for help_ ,” eyeing Gansey with as much disdain as he could manage. “Okay, well, when you have a _real_ idea, you know where to find me.” He turned and stormed away.

Immediately, he regretted it, but Adam kept moving anyway. It wasn’t fair, really, to yell at Gansey like that, but, well. Nothing in Adam’s life was fair. What difference did this one argument make? Gansey would live. What was more important was the fact that Adam was going to get a B in his art class after three years of maintaining a perfect GPA. What was worse was the fact that Ronan could help, and Adam knew it, but he could never ask.

Mostly, he couldn’t ask for help because he was Adam, and he couldn’t ask for anything. Then there was the fact that he hated Ronan Lynch — or, at least, he was pretty sure he did — and Ronan Lynch hated him — or, at least, he was pretty sure he did. They only begrudgingly accepted each other in the company of Gansey; otherwise, they wouldn’t be caught dead near one another. They just had very… incompatible personalities. Where Adam was polite and prudent, Ronan was blunt and brutal. Adam was a perfect picture of responsibility and hard work, and Ronan was the poster child for recklessness and apathy. Why Gansey kept him around, Adam would never know. All he was sure of was the fact that he and Ronan could not be alone together for more than five minutes without dissolving into violence.

The worst part of it all, though, was the fact that Ronan Lynch was _hot_. Like, _should be illegal_ hot. Adam was not ashamed of his attraction to men — he kept it quiet simply as a safety precaution, after all, this was rural Virginia — but he was deeply ashamed of his attraction to Ronan. It should not have been possible for someone as insufferable as Ronan to be so attractive. Usually, Adam was turned off by the asshole factor (as illustrated by his continued disinterest with Tad Carruthers), but somehow, Ronan being a jerk only served to make Adam want to kiss him _more_. And seeing as Ronan was always a jerk, Adam always wanted to kiss him.

So. Ronan helping Adam get his grade up in art was not a possibility. 

It was an interesting idea to entertain, though. Not that Adam had a lot of time to entertain thoughts on impossibilities, but, well, he had gotten a ride to school that morning from Gansey and now they were fighting, so that meant he was walking home. And the walk home would take up a good portion of his afternoon. It wasn’t like he could do homework while he walked, so really, thinking about Ronan Lynch was allowed. For now.

Ronan as a tutor was… intriguing. Adam couldn’t really reconcile Ronan with anything he knew about tutoring. Tutoring required patience and sentences that weren’t ninety-percent swear words. Adam knew that from experience — he did some tutoring with underclassmen as part of the community service requirement for his scholarship. He tried to imagine Ronan sitting at one of the tables in the tutoring center, a pair of glasses sliding down his long nose (not that Ronan wore glasses, but he also had never set foot in the tutoring center in his life, and this was Adam’s fantasy so he could make Ronan wear glasses if he wanted to, thank you very much). He imagined Ronan making notes in the margins of a still-life sketch and twirling a pencil around his dexterous fingers. The thought was so ridiculous that Adam had to laugh out loud.

But of course, with Adam’s luck, that would also be the exact moment that a dark, shark-nosed BMW would pull up alongside him. He jolted away from the vehicle, nearly tumbling into a ditch and barely managing to plant his feet firmly in the grass at the last second. The tinted passenger-side window slid down quietly and when Adam peered inside, Ronan Lynch was leaning across the seat, smiling at him unkindly. “Parrish,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Where’s your ride?”

Adam was not in the mood for this. He was _never_ in the mood for this, to be honest, but this time Gansey wasn’t there to play referee, so Adam had no problem snapping, “Fuck off, Lynch.”

He should have known better. He really should have known better. The only thing Adam ever won by getting angry at Ronan Lynch was his complete and utter serenity, and that was just what Ronan gave him now. Ronan just smiled and pressed the gas a little bit, nudging the Beemer forward to keep pace with Adam. “Now, now, Parrish, is that any way to treat a friend?”

“I don’t see a friend here,” Adam said, gripping the straps of his backpack to refrain from clenching his hands into fists and aiming them at Ronan’s car door. 

Ronan clicked his tongue mockingly, moving his left hand from the steering wheel to his chest. “You wound me,” he said, faux hurt in his voice. He stared at Adam for a second before allowing his trademark hostility free reign over his expression once again. “Just get in the fucking car, Parrish.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you live like twenty miles away and it’s gonna take you all night to get home, and someone is offering you a ride? Jesus Christ. Are you physically incapable of accepting kindness?”

Finally, Adam stopped walking, but only so he could face Ronan and cross his arms over his chest. “I know Gansey put you up to this,” he said.

At that, Ronan finally cracked; his expression did something weird and then landed on exasperated disbelief, like he couldn’t possibly understand why Adam was being so intentionally stupid. “You think Gans—? Tell me, Parrish, in what world is it more likely that I’d help you as a favor to _Gansey_ rather than just helping you because I was driving by and saw you walking home? I’m fucking — look, either you can get in the car right now and I’ll take you home, or I’ll get out of the car and beat your ass, and then I’ll take you home anyway. It’s up to you, dumbass.”

It was an empty threat — all of Ronan’s threats of physical violence toward Adam were empty, he had noticed — but Adam clenched his jaw and wrenched the passenger door open anyway. As Adam slid into the seat, Ronan made an incoherent noise that was somewhere between frustration and triumph, and Adam very nearly climbed right back out of the vehicle just to prove a point. Instead, he said through gritted teeth, “Thanks.”

Shifting gears, Ronan snorted. “Christ, Parrish, that sounded like it damn near killed you.” Before Adam could respond beyond his fiercest glare, Ronan added, “So what’re you and Gansey fighting about?”

“So he _did_ put you up to this.” Adam rolled his eyes and unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching for the door handle even as the Beemer approached sixty miles an hour. “That figures—”

As Adam opened the door, Ronan reached out blindly and pulled it shut again. The BMW swerved into the opposite lane as he took his eyes off the road, but luckily there was no oncoming traffic. He grabbed Adam’s bicep with a vice-like grip. “What the fucking _hell_ , man?” he shouted, jerking the wheel so the Beemer veered back into the right lane. “Jesus fucking _Christ_ , what is _wrong_ with you? Gansey didn’t put me up to shit! I just used my god damn context clues! You weren’t riding with him, and you thought that he asked me to give you a ride, so I worked it out! Jesus _fuck_ , Parrish.”

With a scowl, Adam tore his arm from Ronan’s grasp. “Fine,” he snapped, like any of this was Ronan’s fault. “My bad.” He did not sound like he thought it was _his bad_ , but Ronan didn’t bother calling him on it. 

Instead, what Ronan said was, “What’re you two fighting about?”

Adam huffed, folding his arms across his chest. Obviously, he couldn’t tell Ronan the real cause of the fight, but he also knew that it was likely Gansey would mention it to Ronan. “Just Gansey being Gansey,” he said, and it was true enough.

Ronan switched gears. “About anything in particular?”

“No,” Adam lied. 

It was pretty clear that Ronan didn’t believe him, but he didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. They drove in silence (or as close to silence as was possible with shitty electronica blaring through the speakers) until Ronan finally put the Beemer in park in the empty St. Agnes parking lot, drumming his fingers against the gearshift. As Adam unbuckled his seatbelt, Ronan said, “You good, Parrish?”

Adam paused, one hand on the door handle. He wanted desperately to lie to Ronan. He wanted desperately to tell him the truth.

“Same as always,” he said with a shrug, and he stepped out of the vehicle before Ronan could pry any further.

Adam was barely in his seat for half a second before the bell rang.

“Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” Ronan Lynch said brightly from across the table. Adam repressed a groan.

Normally, in seventh period art, Adam sat in the seat closest to the door and furthest from Ronan. This served two purposes: one, he was the first person out of the room when the bell rang, and two, he didn’t have to interact with Ronan Lynch in the slightest. Today, however, he had been accosted in the hallwaysby an apologetic Gansey, and had ended up being very nearly late to art. Being late, his favorite seat was taken, and so he had thrown himself into the first empty seat he found, which happened to be across from none other than Ronan fucking Lynch.

All in all, the week was really cementing Adam as an atheist. 

“Shut up, Lynch,” Adam whispered breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut. Although there were two more chairs at the table, they were alone, because who in their right mind would choose to sit with Ronan Lynch? Adam shoved his backpack onto the empty seat beside him. “God, I hate you.”

Ronan laughed like Adam had said something funny (or at least, not unpleasant). “Good to see you, too, man,” he said, dropping a sketchbook loudly on the table in front of him. The teacher shot him a dark look but said nothing.

Well, there was no point in beating around the bush. In a strained voice, Adam said, “So, I guess by now Gansey’s told you that I’ve got a B.”

Much to Adam’s chagrin, Ronan laughed again, absolutely joyful. “Oh, Parrish, he did nothing of the sort. I pestered him about your fight all night and he didn’t say a word.” Adam’s face flooded with heat as Ronan continued, “God, it’s my lucky day. What class is it? Is it Latin? Please tell me it’s Latin.”

Adam exhaled forcefully, shaking his head. He cast his gaze down at the table, braced himself, and said, “In here.”

“Huh?” Ronan said, leaning forward slightly. “‘In here?’ What’s that—?” He was quiet for a very long moment, and then he breathed, almost more to himself than Adam, “No, that _can’t_ be.”

Yanking his sketchbook free of the front pocket of his backpack, Adam ground his teeth. “Yeah, okay, laugh it up,” he hissed, fist closing around a pencil. 

Ronan looked at him then, not at all amused. He looked — thoughtful. His head was cocked slightly, and his brows were furrowed. It was a strange expression on him, but he wore it well. “I can help you,” he said.

A lump formed in Adam’s throat; he swallowed around it, then swallowed again. “What?” he asked, incredulous, not moving his eyes from Ronan’s as he flipped to an empty page in the sketchbook. 

“I can help you,” Ronan repeated, more forceful this time. The divot between his brows softened. “Jesus, why didn’t you just ask?”

 _Because I hate you_ , Adam thought. _Because you hate me._

_Because some strange, masochistic part of me is in lo—_

“I’m not very good at asking for help,” Adam admitted, and it was as much the truth as anything else he might have said.

Ronan snorted. “Yeah, you can fucking say that again.” He shook his head slightly, glanced down at the empty page in front of him, and then sighed. “How late do you work tonight?” he asked.

Adam thought for a moment. “I get off at midnight.”

If that was a bad time for Ronan, he didn’t let on. Adam recalled several references to Ronan’s insomnia. Maybe _that_ was why he and Gansey got along so well: because they were awake when the rest of the world was asleep. Adam supposed there must be some unique companionship in that.

“The garage?”

Adam nodded, twirling his pencil absentmindedly in his right hand. Ronan’s eyes zeroed in on the movement for a second, then flicked away abruptly.

“I’ll pick you up,” Ronan offered, not meeting Adam’s gaze. 

There were a thousand reasons why Adam should say no. 

“Okay,” he said anyway.

Boyd’s Garage was a dingy, worn-down establishment on the outskirts of Henrietta. The hangar could fit about five cars, but there were never more than three on the blocks at any given moment. It was the only auto shop in the city, and it kept its doors open by servicing arrogant Raven Boys who thought _they_ were the street racer who could beat Ronan Lynch.

Maybe Ronan wasn’t as useless as Adam had assumed. After all, it was _his_ reputation that ensured Adam made rent each month.

Other than Boyd himself, Adam was the only mechanic who worked at the garage. He had lucked into the gig one day his sophomore year when he had been biking home from school and saw a car pulled over on the side of the road. He had stopped to help, and lo and behold, it had been Boyd himself. Boyd had had the situation handled, but he let Adam help anyway, and then he had told Adam that his assistant at the garage had just moved away and he was looking for a replacement. Adam had been hired the next day.

As far as his three jobs went (factory, garage, warehouse), the garage didn’t pay the best, but it was by and far Adam’s favorite. He genuinely liked working on cars, even though it was messy, even though it was often very repetitive and meticulous work. There was something about knowing how to take something apart and put it back together that was oddly satisfying to Adam; nothing felt better than truly _understanding_ the inner workings of something. He wasn’t very good at understanding people, but hey, at least he had cars.

It was ten till midnight when the squealing of brakes alerted Adam to Ronan’s arrival. He straightened up from where he had been bent over the engine of a shiny Camaro — not the Pig, but just as useless at the moment — and watched as a shadow approached the open garage door at the end of the bay.

Ronan entered the garage as he entered every other building in the world: confidently and loudly, if not in volume then in aura. There was something about his presence that made even the grandest room feel small, but it had long since stopped making Adam uncomfortable; at this point in their… acquaintanceship… he almost found comfort in Ronan’s presence, if that was possible. He kind of liked the way that Ronan sucked the air out of a room, even if it did make it harder to breathe.

It wasn’t the first time that Ronan had been to the garage — he had driven Gansey to pick up the Pig probably half a dozen times in the last year alone — but he looked around with the wonderment of a man discovering a new land. By the time his eyes landed on Adam, he had an expression of genuine glee on his face, although at the sight of Adam it sharpened into something that Adam wasn’t quite ready to dissect just yet. He just raised an eyebrow in reply, reaching toward the workbench beside him to grab a wrench. Ronan’s eyes devoured the movement.

“I’m still on for another ten minutes,” Adam said when Ronan didn’t even attempt to greet him.

As if in a trance, Ronan nodded slowly, still watching as Adam’s hands slid deftly into the engine of the Camaro. “That’s fine,” he said, and even if his face was betraying him, his voice was crisp and clear as always. He lifted one hand in the air and swung a greasy paper bag with a fast food logo on the side. “I brought food.”

“I’m fine,” said Adam automatically, even though he had been working all afternoon and hadn’t had so much as a cracker since lunch.

Ronan rolled his eyes; he had obviously been anticipating that. “They fucked up my order and gave me a free side of fries,” he said, frowning in a judgmental sort of way he seemed to reserve for Adam.

Adam wanted to believe that Ronan was lying. He also wanted to believe that Ronan didn’t lie. More than he wanted either of those things, though, he was hungry. “Fine,” he conceded, tightening up one last bolt and tossing the wrench back onto the table. “Are you sure you’re fine helping me so late?” he added after a moment. “I can’t ask you to stay up —”

“You didn’t ask me to do shit,” Ronan cut in, which, hey, that was true. But still. Before Adam could argue his point, Ronan continued, “and I’m gonna be up all night anyway. Might as well get something productive done.”

That was fair. Adam didn’t say anything else, working in silence for the next several minutes, but he felt Ronan’s eyes on him the entire time anyway. He attributed it to the fact that there was simply nothing more interesting going on to look at. Plus, Ronan was seemingly allergic to technology, so it wasn’t like he was just going to stand there and scroll through his phone. It made sense that he was watching Adam fidget with the engine and wipe his greasy hands on the thighs of his jumpsuit and swear clumsily when he dropped a tool. What was Ronan supposed to do, stare at the ceiling quietly for ten minutes?

Finally, when the silence was nearly unbearable, Adam glanced at the clock and realized it was five minutes past midnight. He grabbed a rag and began to wipe off his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was five past,” he said, chancing a look in Ronan’s direction.

Ronan, for some unfathomable reason, was flushing bright pink. “It’s fine,” he said in a voice that sounded slightly pained. “Take your time.”

It was a very un-Ronan-like response, but Adam let it slide. Whatever was bothering Ronan was none of his business, and anyway, Ronan had been very accommodating up until that point; Adam could allow him this (whatever _this_ was).

“Just let me close up real quick,” Adam said. He balled up the greasy cloth in his hands and tossed it across the room, letting it land easily in a basket full of dirty rags. He shut the hood of the car he was working on and began to turn off the lights, losing sight of Ronan for a moment as his eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness.

The last light source was the streetlamp outside the open bay door; it cast a bright yellow square on the floor on the opposite side of the garage from where Adam stood, and he headed for it slowly, taking great care not to trip over anything. Ronan’s soft footsteps followed behind him.

As he walked, Adam unzipped the front of his jumpsuit, slipping his arms free of the sleeves and instead securing them around his waist in a loose knot. Ronan’s presence seemed to raise the temperature in the garage twenty degrees, in both the best and worst ways possible. Everything about Ronan managed to be both the best and the worst — he was endlessly contradictory like that, a dozen paradoxes stacked on top of one another in a trench coat. Maybe that was why Adam could never make up his mind between loving and hating Ronan; there were too many Ronans to really settle on having just one opinion of him.

“I didn’t think mechanics really wore jumpsuits like that,” said Ronan in an odd voice. It was almost aggressive, except he sounded sort of dehydrated, like his voice might crack on any syllable. He stepped into the patch of light just as Adam reached the door and began to lower it. “Does it have a little patch on the chest with your name? I didn’t see.”

Adam sighed, working the rope through his hands. “It does,” he said. He resigned himself to the idea of being mocked relentlessly, but instead Ronan didn’t reply, just swallowed audibly. Adam brushed it off; it was weird, but it was _Ronan_ , so it wasn’t exactly like there wasn’t a precedent.

When the door was finally shut and Adam had secured the lock, he turned around and ran a hand through his hair. “Come on,” he said, even though Ronan probably couldn’t see him, and he traced one hand along the wall until he found the office door. He twisted the knob and pushed the creaky door open, reaching inside and sliding his hand around till it landed on the light switch. The room lit up, enough light escaping the doorway to illuminate a few yards of the hangar. He stood to the side long enough for Ronan to pass through the door, then stepped through himself and shut the office door and locked it.

Adam pointed at the outside door. “Just through there,” he said, and Ronan arched a lazy eyebrow but crossed the office and headed outside anyway, leaving the door open behind him. Adam flicked the light off and left the office, pulling a keyring from his pocket and locking the door from the outside. When he turned around, Ronan was already climbing into the Beemer on the far side of the parking lot, the engine humming to life. Adam made it halfway across the lot before Ronan pulled up beside him and idled it just long enough for Adam to slide into the passenger seat. 

The drive was short, shorter than it might have been with someone other than Ronan at the wheel. Adam was glad for the brevity of the trip for several reasons, most of which had something to do with him being deaf in one ear and Ronan enjoying horrendous EDM music at truly monstrous volumes. He ate as Ronan drove, balling up the greasy bag when he was done and holding onto it to give his hands something to do. Adam was already half out of his seat by the time Ronan put the BMW into park in the church parking lot.

Adam Parrish lived in a small, dreary apartment above a Catholic church called St. Agnes. Ronan had actually, in his own roundabout way, found the apartment for Adam — after that night when Adam’s father had hit him too damn hard, and Adam had lost his hearing, and Ronan had beat the shit out of Robert Parrish — after Gansey had paid his hospital bill and said that thing that could never be unsaid — after charges were pressed and Adam had moved his one box of worldly possessions into Monmouth Manufacturing — it had been Ronan who had learned about the apartment and passed it on to Noah to pass on to Adam (Gansey couldn’t be trusted to tell Adam about it, because given his way, Adam would have lived in Monmouth forever). 

It was strange, though, how Ronan walked like it was consecrated ground. Even in the parking lot, even on the rickety wooden stairs, even inside the tiny attic apartment. Adam knew that Ronan was spiritual, but it was odd to see it in practice. It seemed… _wrong_ , somehow, for Ronan to attend mass downstairs and tutor Adam upstairs and act as if it were the same thing, as if it were the same God, as if the only difference between the two levels of the building was the decór. And yet, as wrong as it seemed, it also felt blasphemously right.

Ronan had been inside Adam’s apartment once before, the day that he had helped Adam move in. Since then, it hadn’t changed much; a potted plant here, a thrift store toaster there. It was a bit grimy in the way that old things were, but it was also neat in the way that Adam was, and Ronan regarded the room curiously, if not with the unbridled interest he had shown at Boyd’s. He ducked his shaved head to avoid knocking it against the ceiling as he stepped further into the apartment, skimming his fingertips against the cracked spines of Adam’s secondhand book collection.

“Suus ‘ a benificio quod mens potest ire quo vult,” Ronan breathed, nearly unintelligible beneath the hum of a nearby fan.

“Fuck,” Adam whispered back, impressed. “Is that Ovid?”

Ronan’s lips twitched into something like a smile. “Need I remind you who is ranked first in Latin, Parrish?”

Scowling, Adam knocked his shoulder against Ronan’s. “Shut up.” He kicked off his sneakers and turned to yank open the top drawer of his cheap plastic storage containers. “I’m gonna go change, make yourself at home.” He grabbed a clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the drawer and then headed for the bathroom.

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Adam slumped against it, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. If he had thought that Ronan’s presence had made the garage smaller, it had nothing on what he did to Adam’s apartment; it felt, impossibly, like a _vacuum_ , like the room was shrinking with each breath that Ronan took, and part of Adam wanted to just sit back and let himself suffocate. The more logical, more controlled part of his brain pushed the idea away. _Wash your hands._ He turned the sink on and let the water cascade off the oil stains on his hands. _Wash your face._ He scrubbed the grease from his cheekbones till the skin was red. _Change your clothes._ He stepped out of the jumpsuit and left it rumpled on the floor when he pulled up his sweatpants. _Go back into the other room._ He opened the door and stepped back into the main room.

In the five minutes Adam was gone, Ronan had indeed made himself at home: he was sprawled out on the thin mattress on the floor, combat boots hanging heavily off the end, his arms propped up underneath his head. His eyes were closed, but he was obviously awake, humming an unpleasant melody that Adam recognized as the Murder Squash Song. 

“Okay,” said Adam, unzipping his backpack where it hung from the back of his desk chair. He pulled his sketchbook free and tossed it toward his bed, where it fell on Ronan’s stomach with a small noise. “Teach me how to do art, or whatever.”

Ronan opened one eye and narrowed it at Adam. “First of all,” he sneered, “it’s called _drawing_. Jesus Christ.” He took the sketchbook in his hands and sat up with a sigh, then held out his hand. “Pencil.”

Adam didn’t take particularly well to being ordered around his own apartment, but he didn’t really have a leg to stand on, so he just plucked a pencil from the plastic cup on his desk and tossed it in a high arc. Ronan caught it one-handed and immediately brought it to the paper in front of him without even waiting for Adam to approach.

“Your problem,” Ronan began, “or, should I say, your _first_ problem, is that you try to jump straight into perfection. That’s not how art fuckin’ works, okay? You gotta start off loose. Relaxed. It’s supposed to be messy.” As Adam came to sit down beside Ronan on the mattress, leaving half a foot of space between them, he watched Ronan sketch out a loose shape, something reminiscent of a circle. If it was actually meant to be a circle, it was the poorest excuse for a circle that Adam had ever seen, but that didn’t seem to bother Ronan. He held out the sketchbook and the pencil. “Draw a circle. Just like I just did.”

Adam frowned, but he didn’t object. He took the sketchbook and pressed the lead to the page, but before he could even attempt to draw a wobbly-ass circle, Ronan was shaking his head. “You’re holding the pencil wrong.”

“I think I know how to hold a pencil,” snapped Adam.

The look that Ronan leveled him with was deeply unimpressed. “Says the loser getting a B in art,” he grumbled, but his voice was more or less heatless. “You need to loosen your grip.”

Grinding his teeth, Adam tried relaxing his hand, but he didn’t even have time to ask if he was doing it right before Ronan was leaning toward him, rolling his eyes. “Like _this_ ,” he muttered, taking Adam’s hand in his and adjusting his grip, which, oh.

 _Oh_.

It hadn’t occurred to Adam until that very moment, but the thought hit him like a freight train: nobody had touched him since his failed relationship with Blue Sargent. Nobody had given him a hug, or even a pat on the shoulder. Nobody had ruffled his hair or brushed their hand against his. Aside from bumping shoulders with Ronan earlier in the evening, this was the first time he had been touched in any context for, well, months. And it was his first skin-to-skin contact in… he wasn’t even sure how long.

So. It made sense that the touch was momentarily overwhelming. He was touch-starved, which wasn’t exactly new, but it definitely clouded his judgment. He suddenly couldn’t think about sketching or art class or grades or college — his mind was a whirlwind of _skin_ and _warmth_ and _Ronan Ronan Ronan._

And Ronan, well, he didn’t seem to be doing much better. His fingers still resting across Adam’s knuckles, he cleared his throat, but he didn’t attempt to speak. With his index finger pressed against Adam’s pulsepoint, it was likely that he could feel Adam’s heart rate speed up and knew how Adam felt, but if it made him uncomfortable, he didn’t let on. If anything, he seemed to be similarly affected by the circumstances.

“So,” Adam breathed, both needing to break the silence and wanting to stay in the moment forever. The single syllable hung in the air for one second and then crashed down on them both, shattering the moment into a thousand pieces. They sprung apart, Adam’s hands burning in every place Ronan had touched him, Ronan’s eyes wild with fear and surprise and _something else_ , something that Adam recognized from looking in the mirror, something like _greed_ or _hunger_ or _want_. It split him open to see Ronan like that. It soothed a wound he didn’t know existed.

“Like this?” he asked weakly, holding the pencil so shakily that it was practically useless.

Ronan swallowed; Adam’s eyes instinctively followed the movement. “Yeah,” Ronan rasped, and Adam had to look away before he did something stupid.

The rest of the night went like this: Adam made a poor attempt at sketching, Ronan chastised him for putting in such little effort, and otherwise it was quiet and awkward and there was a gap between them the size of the Pacific Ocean. Adam sketched a sloppy raven and thought about holding Ronan’s hand. He sketched an ugly owl and thought about kissing Ronan. He sketched a wonky vulture and thought about tracing Ronan’s tattoo with his fingertips.

“Why do you keep making me draw birds?” he asked as he attempted to draw a duck bill.

Ronan shrugged, studying either the drawing or Adam’s hands (it was hard to tell). “I like birds,” he said, like it was an explanation that made sense. Adam just sighed and said nothing else; there was no point in trying to understand the inner workings of Ronan Lynch’s brain.

It was a bit past two in the morning when Adam finally decided he was tired of sketching birds. “Okay,” he yawned, closing the sketchbook. “I think that’s enough.” He tossed the sketchbook in the direction of his desk and then threw himself backwards, flat on his back across the mattress. “I need to get to sleep.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ronan rub sleepily at his face. “Yeah, I’m pretty beat, too,” Ronan said before pushing himself into a standing position. “Well, goodnight, Parrish.”

It was a stupid idea. It was the stupidest idea Adam had ever had, and that was saying something, because he had some really fucking stupid ideas. He pushed past that thought and said, “You can stay, if you want.”

Halfway to the door, Ronan froze.

Oh, God. Why was Adam _like_ this? What was _wrong_ with him? “I just mean, it’s late. You’re tired. You shouldn’t be driving.” It took physical effort to fake confidence, to keep his words firm and unrushed. “But it’s up to you.”

Ronan was very still and very silent for several moments, and then he shrugged his leather jacket off easily. “Yeah, okay,” he said, emotionless, as he tossed the jacket to the floor and bent to unlace his boots.

“You can have the bed,” Adam offered automatically, standing up. In all honesty, it wasn’t much more comfortable than the floor, but it was still the polite thing to do. He didn’t have much experience hosting guests — or, really, any experience — but he _did_ have basic manners and common sense.

Ronan, however, was already sitting comfortably on the floor. “Nah,” he said obnoxiously, kicking off one boot. “Floor’s fine. You can keep your shitty bed.”

Rude, but Adam wasn’t going to argue the point. He was surprised that Ronan had even agreed to stay; he wasn’t going to push it too far and let Ronan storm out of the apartment and into the night. With half a shrug, he grabbed a folded blanket from one of his plastic drawers and threw it toward Ronan. “Here,” he said, and when Ronan looked as comfortable as he could possibly be on the ancient, splintery floor, Adam clicked off the lamp and crawled back into bed.

He had expected it to be difficult, falling asleep with Ronan just a couple feet away. He thought he’d be laying there for hours, listening to Ronan’s breathing, remembering how Ronan’s hands felt on his. But, as was becoming the pattern, Adam was very wrong. He barely had time to pull his blanket up to his shoulders before unconsciousness was claiming him, and he let himself drift off, warm and comfortable and distantly satisfied.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy!!! as you may have noticed, i have decided to make this into three chapters instead of two!! i'll explain more in the notes at the end of the chapter, but i hope you enjoy!

That satisfaction only lasted until his alarm went off at six.

Ronan was long gone when Adam rolled out of bed and slapped his palm down on his alarm clock, silencing the incessant beeping that had ripped him from an interesting dream about Ronan and a forest that seemed to whisper things to him. The blanket that Ronan had used was folded into a messy square and left at the foot of Adam’s bed, and he actually had to fight the urge to lift it to his face and see if it smelled like Ronan.

God, he was fucked.

Well, at least he didn’t work before school. That meant he actually had time to go about his morning routine slowly. His shower was short (the water bill didn’t pay itself) but everything else about the morning was relaxed and lazy, indulgent in a way that Adam so rarely got to be. He made himself a cup of cheap coffee and drank it leisurely, flipping through a beaten copy of Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ without aim. He marked a line that reminded him of Ronan (“ _He gazes at her lips, and knows that gazing is not enough. He marvels at her fingers, her hands, her wrists, her arms, bare to the shoulder, and what he does not see he thinks is better. But still she flees him, swifter than the wind…_ ”) and packed his lunch (a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a handful of chips) and tried sketching a bit (he intended to draw a bird, but instead he ended up with a sloppy sketch of Ronan’s collarbone and the bits and pieces of tattoo that reached over his shoulders and out from under his shirt). By the time Gansey arrived in the Pig, Adam had very nearly driven himself insane.

He was driven even closer to insanity, of course, when he shouldered his bag and trotted down the stairs and walked up to the car just to find Ronan sitting in the passenger seat, his boots kicked up on the dashboard. At Adam’s approach, he sat up straight and then slid out of the car, pushing the seat forward so that Adam could climb in the back, but Adam just stopped in the middle of the lot, eyeing Ronan warily.

“Good morning, Parrish!” said Gansey happily, completely oblivious where he sat in the driver’s seat. “How are you today?”

Adam avoided Ronan’s gaze and forced himself into the Camaro’s backseat, trying and failing to clear his head. “I’m good,” he said derisively, shoving his backpack to the side. “How are you?”

“I’m wonderful!” Gansey exclaimed, and as he began to prattle on about something he had discovered about his dead Welsh king, Adam let himself zone out and think instead about Ronan’s throat and his wrists and his lips.

“So, what do you think, Adam?” Gansey asked as he killed the engine in the Aglionby parking lot. He turned in his seat and smiled so brightly that Adam very nearly regretted ignoring him. 

But Adam Parrish was nothing if not a liar. “Sorry,” he said, raising a hand to his right ear. “I didn’t catch that last bit. Can you say it again?”

“Of course!” Gansey said immediately, running a hand through his hair. “I was just wondering if—?”

Whatever Gansey had been wondering, Adam would never know, because at that exact second, Ronan said, “Sorry, Gansey, man, but I’ve got some physics homework to do and I kinda need Parrish’s help.”

Gansey stopped mid-sentence, his eyes wide as he turned to look at Ronan. “Oh!” he said, clearly shocked at the idea of Ronan doing schoolwork. “Oh! Of course! Be on your way, then! I’ll see you both in Latin!” Anybody else would have been offended by the abandonment of their friends, but not Gansey; he seemed genuinely pleased at the turn of events, and he even offered Adam an encouraging smile as Adam pushed the passenger seat forward and climbed out of the car.

Ronan led Adam wordlessly through the labyrinth of sports cars that was Aglionby’s senior parking and strode confidently into the nearest building, an old and unseasonably warm student lounge area. It was intended for the students who lived on campus, probably, but that didn’t seem to bother Ronan; he just headed for a table and threw his body down into a chair, jerking his head at Adam in a motion that said _sit_. Adam sat.

Carelessly, aggressively, Ronan opened his backpack and pulled out a psychics textbook that had seen better days. He dropped it on the table with a bang and then opened it to a page marked by a sheet of loose leaf paper. He shoved the book and the paper toward Adam with an arch of an eyebrow.

Adam glanced at the book. It was opened to the problem set for the chapter they had just completed, and the assignment was scribbled at the top of the otherwise-blank piece of paper. Adam frowned at it. “You were serious?” he asked.

Ronan scowled. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he snapped, fidgeting with the leather bands at his wrists. “Can you help me or not, Parrish?”

“Of course I can,” said Adam immediately, and he reached into the front pocket of his backpack blindly and grasped for a pencil. “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Noted,” said Ronan in a voice that let Adam know that his surprise was not really noted at all. “Now, can you teach me fucking scientific notation, please?”

“How have you made it to senior year without learning scientific notation?”

Ronan glared. “How have you made it to senior year without learning how to draw a fucking stick figure, Parrish? I don’t have time for this.” He reached for his book, but Adam pulled it out of his reach.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I can teach you scientific notation. It’s actually pretty simple once you understand the rules…”

By the time the first bell rang to send them to class, Ronan had grasped the fundamentals of scientific notation and successfully made it halfway through his problem set. He and Adam walked to Latin together, talking about nothing in particular, and when they slid into their seats, Gansey turned around and ogled them as if they had arrived holding hands.

“You two are getting along well,” Gansey remarked to Adam after class had finished and Ronan had disappeared, probably to wreak havoc on unsuspecting raven boys.

Adam glanced at Gansey suspiciously, pulling at his backpack straps. “He’s helping me with art,” he admitted after a second, trying to keep his voice relatively neutral. 

Gansey’s expression went from _interested_ to _positively gleeful_. “I _knew_ you two would make excellent friends!” he whooped, as if it were his own personal victory that Ronan and Adam were finally capable of spending time together without trying to kill each other. “I’m surprised it took this long, really, but—!”

Adam cut him off with an elbow in the arm. “ _Friends_ might be overstating it,” he said, mostly just to shut Gansey up. “It’s more like symbiosis. We help each other, but our relationship isn’t exactly personal.”

“Still,” said Gansey, ever the optimist. “This is fantastic news! Now, if you guys could just warm up to Henry Cheng…” His words trailed off as he walked away from Adam, probably to go brainstorm fun group outings that would force them all to bond even further. Adam shuddered at the thought and headed to his next class.

By the time last period rolled around, Adam had mostly banished the thought of Ronan from his mind. He had always been pretty decent at compartmentalizing — not just out of habit but as a survival mechanism — and so, once he put his mind to it, it was easy to forget about Ronan long enough to take quizzes and jot down notes and answer questions in class. He was actually feeling pretty proud of himself when he walked into the art room.

And then that went out the fucking window.

Because there was Ronan Lynch, in his usual seat at the far end of the room, leaning back in his chair, his tie askew and the top button of his shirt undone and his sleeves pushed all the way up above his elbows.

Adam’s mouth went dry.

Theoretically, he could have sat in his usual seat right by the door. It wouldn’t have been weird; that was where he always sat. The day before had been a fluke. It would have been fine. Ronan wouldn’t have been offended. 

Adam crossed the room and sat across from Ronan again anyway.

The smile that Ronan shot him was equal parts joyful and vicious. “Back for more, Parrish?” he snarked.

“Shut up,” said Adam without venom. He got his sketchbook out and began to flip through it, looking for an empty page. He had covered two pages front and back with bird sketches the night before, and then that morning there was the Ronan sketch —

He didn’t flip by it quite quickly enough.

“What was that?” Ronan asked, leaning forward till the front legs of his chair hit the ground. Adam continued to flip, and Ronan slapped his hand down flat on the sketchbook to still the movement. “Was that me?”

“No,” said Adam, too defensively. It was obviously a lie. Ronan’s eyes glittered with mischief. Adam fought back a rather vibrant blush.

“Parrish,” said Ronan softly, his smirk wicked. “Why do you have a drawing of me in your sketchbook?”

The logical part of Adam’s brain wanted to be proud that the sketch was even good enough for Ronan to recognize himself. 

The emotional part of his brain was on the verge of a panic attack.

“I don’t,” Adam lied again, his voice passing _defensive_ and going straight to _furious_. If possible, this only served to amuse Ronan further; his smirk turned into a full-blown grin. Adam hissed, “Mind your fucking business.”

Ronan looked as if he wanted to push further, but he knew better. He slumped back in his chair. “Okay,” he said, and there was something off-putting by how easily he gave it up. Adam knew that he was going to have to deal with this later. “Must have been a trick of the light.”

Adam didn’t look up from his sketchbook for the rest of the hour.

How Adam had forgotten that Ronan had ridden to school with Gansey that morning, he would never know. 

All he knew was that Ronan was _everywhere_ , and it was simultaneously the best and the worst part of his day. He couldn’t turn his head without catching Ronan’s eye, and even when he thought he had escaped it, there was Ronan, just behind him, getting ready to clamber into the Pig. Adam exhaled viciously and threw himself into the backseat.

“You okay, Parrish?” Gansey asked, casting him a worried look in the rearview mirror. Ronan also glanced at Adam over his shoulder, but his look was less _concerned_ and more _shit-eating_. 

Adam blatantly ignored Ronan and turned his best smile on Gansey. “I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just been a long day. Sorry.”

Gansey returned the smile. “No need to apologize! I was just worried about you, tiger.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the Pig’s engine roared to life. Raising his voice to be heard above it, he asked, “Do you work tonight?”

Actually… “No, I’m off today.” It was a rarity for Adam to have a Friday afternoon off from work. He had been planning on using his free time to get ahead on his homework and catch up on some sleep, but… 

Gansey’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Fantastic! How would you like to come with us?”

There was a pause, and when Gansey didn’t elaborate, Adam asked cautiously, “...Where?”

Gansey opened his mouth to answer, but Ronan cut him off. “Yes or no, Parrish?” 

This was the part where Adam said _no_. This was the part where Adam said _sorry, I have a lot of homework_ or _I really need to catch up on sleep_ or _I can’t be out too late, I work tomorrow_. This was the part where Adam created some much-needed distance between himself and his friends, himself and Ronan, himself and everything. This was the part where Adam reinforced his lonesomeness, because that was what Adam did best.

This was the part where Adam said _no_ , but when he opened his mouth, the word that came out instead was “Yes.”

Ronan’s grin was triumphant. Gansey was smiling, too, but Adam wasn’t looking at him. He met Ronan’s eyes and smirked, a private thing, before leaning back and closing his eyes. Surely, whatever Gansey and Ronan had planned to do couldn’t be _that_ bad.

There should be a limit to how many times you could be wrong in a certain period of time, Adam thought.

Mostly, Gansey and Ronan’s plans hadn’t sucked — they had decided to go exploring in the… forest? Kind of weird, but Adam wasn’t going to object. He didn’t have a lot of time to go traipsing around in the woods, but he did enjoy it when he came across the opportunity. There was something about being in nature that calmed him in ways he didn’t know were possible, like the thrumming in his veins slowed whenever he took a breath of fresh air. Being in the woods made it a bit more fathomable that there was a higher power — if Adam could see trees, he could feel God.

But their day didn’t end in the woods; it _began_ there. They hiked through the woods for hours, and it was nice, really. It wasn’t too hot or too cold, too damp or too windy or too anything, for that matter. It was a beautiful day, and Gansey and Ronan didn’t have too much to say (even Ronan respected the sanctity of the woods), and sure, Adam was tired when they finally returned to the Pig, but it was a good kind of tired. The kind of tired that came from doing something productive and enjoyable. 

Adam expected that they might go out to eat then, and then either head back to Monmouth or go their separate ways, and either idea was fine with him. What he did not expect was for Gansey to pull back onto the road and say, “Okay, we’re running a little late, but that’s fine. Perhaps Blue can meet us at Nino’s before we go to Litchfield. Parrish, could you take my phone and call Fox Way for me?”

Taking Gansey’s phone in his hands, Adam blinked slowly. “Litchfield?” he repeated, nearly shouting to be heard over the Pig’s engine.

Gansey nodded, his eyes firmly on the road like the Responsible Driver that he was. “Henry Cheng is having a party tonight, and I promised him that Blue and Noah and I would be there! 

Apparently, this was as surprising to Ronan as it was to Adam; Ronan turned fully in his seat, jaw slack. “I’m not going to a fucking Litchfield party,” he sneered, bracing his hands against the headrest and the dashboard. “Count me out.”

“Me too,” said Adam before he could overthink it. 

Gansey frowned, then, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “But I promised him that I would make—” He started.

“We’re not saying that you can’t go,” said Ronan slowly, as if he were explaining something very basic to a small child. “But shit, dude, you can’t expect Parrish and I to suffer just because Cheng’s hot for Noah and you’re his wingman.”

Adam coughed. “What?”

In the driver’s seat, Gansey was blushing. “That’s none of your business — you really shouldn’t — I mean, it’s just unkind — that’s not the point, anyway,” he rambled, lifting one hand to loosen his tie (how it had stayed so perfectly knotted for the duration of their hike, Adam would never know; he and Ronan had abandoned their ties in the Pig before setting foot in the woods). “I don’t understand what the two of you have against Henry Cheng.”

“I don’t have anything against him,” said Adam, and that much was true: his opinion of Henry was completely neutral. “I just don’t like parties.”

Ronan snorted. “I don’t like Cheng _or_ parties,” he said, finally sitting back in his seat and running one hand over his buzzed scalp. “So I will not be partaking in either.” He said the word ‘partaking’ in a mocking tone, as if he were physically incapable of saying a three-syllable word without turning it into a joke. Adam snickered involuntarily and thanked God that he couldn’t be heard over the thrum of the engine.

“Fine,” Gansey sighed, like a disappointed father. “Would you like me to drop you at Monmouth before I meet Jane at Nino’s?” Oh, shit. Adam had forgotten he was supposed to call Blue. He unlocked the phone and thumbed through Gansey’s contacts until he finally found the number labeled _300 Fox Way_. 

In the passenger seat, Ronan shook his head. “Nah,” he drawled, kicking one combat boot up on the dash despite Gansey’s scolding look. “We’re still hungry, Dick.”

The phone only rang in Adam’s good ear for a few seconds before somebody picked up. “Hello?” said a sultry, feminine voice. “300 Fox Way, Orla speaking.”

That made sense. Adam cleared his throat and said, “Hi, this is Adam Parrish. I’d like to speak to Blue for a second?”

“Hmm,” Orla hummed, thoughtful. “Adam. Are you the snake, Coca Cola, or Richie Rich? I can’t remember.”

Adam sighed. “I think I’m Coca Cola.”

He could _hear_ the smile on her lips. “Interesting. You know, I’m free tonight—” Before she could continue, there was a loud voice interrupting her from somewhere nearby. “ _Orla!_ ” Blue yelled in the background of the call, and then there was a shuffling sound, as if the phone were being yanked from somebody’s hands, and muffled speaking, like a palm was pressed against the receiver while someone was being reprimanded for flirting with high school boys. Adam waited patiently.

“Sorry about that,” Blue said after a second, exhaling deeply. “You still there?”

Adam breathed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he said, relaxing slightly in his seat. Even after everything had gone down with Blue, he still cared for her deeply. No matter what, she would always be one of his best friends. “What’re you up to?”

“Not much,” said Blue. “I was just getting dressed for the party, why?”

“Well, it turns out we’re running a bit late,” Adam said, turning his head so he could watch the countryside fly by through the windows. “And Gansey was wondering if you could meet us at Nino’s.”

Blue sighed as if she were the most put-upon person in the world, but her voice was as cheerful as ever (or, as cheerful as Blue ever was) when she said, “I can do you one better. I can call in your order now _and_ meet you guys there.”

God bless Blue Sargent. “That would be perfect,” said Adam. He turned his attention to Gansey and Ronan. “Hey, guys, Blue’s gonna put in our order for us. What do we want?”

“The usual,” said Gansey, tapping his hands against the steering wheel. 

Ronan leaned his head back and glanced over his shoulder. “And a side of cheese dippers,” he said after a moment’s consideration. He turned back to face the windshield.

Adam repeated the order into the phone and Blue confirmed she would meet them there, and then they hung up. Adam passed the phone back to Gansey and stretched out in the backseat to nap for the rest of the drive.

It was a little under half an hour later when they finally pulled into the Nino’s parking lot, parking directly beneath a flickering street lamp that Adam _swore_ stopped strobing the second that he looked up and glared at it. If anyone else noticed this, they said nothing — the three boys stomped into Nino’s and headed directly for their booth near the back, where Blue and Noah were sitting across from each other and talking animatedly.

“Well, that’s Gansey for you,” Blue was saying as they approached. She opened her mouth to say something else but stopped talking when her eyes landed on Gansey, and her mouth widened into a smile instead. “Hey, boys,” she said, lifting her drink as if to say _cheers_. “You’re late. Pizza’s getting cold.”

The three of them slid into the booth, Gansey sandwiched between Blue and Adam, Ronan claiming the spot beside Noah. He was directly across from Adam, and their ankles briefly brushed. Adam grabbed the glass of ice water in front of him and brought it to his lips to hide the way his cheeks were turning pink.

“Terribly sorry about that,” Gansey said, and he tactfully ignored Ronan’s interjection of _I’m not._ “We got very sidetracked on our hike—”

“Hike?” Blue interrupted, brows furrowing. “You went hiking?” The phrase _without me?_ went unspoken at the end of her question. Gansey’s eyes widened.

“Well…” he began, and Adam turned away and grabbed a slice of pizza, too tired to pay attention to this particular squabble.

Ronan and Noah seemed to have the same idea, and the three of them ate in companionable silence (excluding Gansey and Blue’s bickering, of course). The food disappeared quickly, and eventually the argument at the end of the table tapered out, and finally it was time to leave.

Gansey paid for the entire meal — they had discovered that if Gansey covered everybody, Adam would let him, and nobody really minded that solution, least of all Gansey — and they slid from the booth as one unit, but they broke apart as soon as they had stepped into the dark parking lot. Gansey raised an eyebrow at Adam and Ronan as they split away from the others.

“I can drive you to Monmouth,” he said, twirling his keyring around his index finger. Behind him, Noah was clambering into the Pig’s backseat. “It’ll only take a minute—”

“That’s okay,” Ronan interrupted, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. “We can walk.” He glanced toward Adam, as if maybe he expected an argument, but Adam just nodded in agreement.

“We’ll be fine, Gansey,” Adam said. He glanced at his watch. “You’re late enough as it is. We’ll see you later.”

Gansey frowned at the both of them, obviously unhappy with the turn of events, but in the end he just nodded in return and walked around the Pig to slide into the driver’s seat. Adam and Ronan watched him pull away, and then they turned and began to walk to Monmouth.

It wasn’t a very far walk, maybe twenty minutes, but in the chilly autumn night, time felt unruly and stretched thin. Adam shivered slightly in his sweater. He breathed out a white puff of air and looked up at the sky, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Beside him, Ronan was quiet but restless, shifting his arms with every few steps like he was holding himself back from breaking into a run. This frantic, anxious energy was not new, but it felt more dangerous, somehow, like if Adam didn’t stop him, Ronan was going to do something truly harebrained. 

“We should watch a movie,” Adam said after a few minutes, more to fill the silence than anything else. “When we get to Monmouth, I mean.”

Ronan grunted noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes kept flicking to Adam and away, to Adam and away, in a manner that was supposed to be subtle but really wasn’t. They stopped at an intersection to allow a car to pass, then continued walking.

“Or we can work on drawing,” said Adam through his chattering teeth. He pulled his arms tight across his chest. “I could use the practice.”

Ronan glanced at him again, narrowed his eyes, and looked away. Adam frowned to himself, glancing up at the stars to distract himself for a moment, and nearly had a heart attack when he felt Ronan’s hands on his shoulders. 

“What—?” Adam gasped immediately, taking a large step back. Ronan froze, looking offended and guilty and mildly hurt all at once, and it was clear he wanted to step toward Adam but was refraining from doing so. In his hands he held his leather jacket, and Adam had to stare at it for several seconds, panting heavily in alarm, before he realized that Ronan had _taken his jacket off and tried to drape it over Adam’s shoulders_.

Still standing on the sidewalk, unmoving and calm, Ronan spoke to Adam in a soothing voice. “It’s okay, Parrish. I didn’t mean to spook you. You looked cold, so I was offering up my jacket. That’s all.” His voice was low and gentle, the kind of tone you used on half-feral animals. _How fitting_ , Adam reflected even as his shoulders relaxed. He swallowed the fear that had been building up in his throat and took a step forward.

“Sorry,” Adam said, a bit breathless, as he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. “You just — you startled me, that’s all.” He didn’t have to tell Ronan _why_ or _how_ — Ronan had been there. Ronan knew. “Sorry.”

It took Ronan only a few large steps to catch up to Adam. “Don’t apologize,” he said firmly. He held the jacket out again, not daring to touch Adam this time, and said, “Here.” His voice left no room for argument. Blushing slightly, Adam took the jacket and pushed his arms through the sleeves easily.

The inside of the jacket was warm, and it smelled like Ronan. Unconsciously, Adam pulled it tighter around himself. “Thanks,” he muttered, reluctant, and out of the corner of his eye he could swear he caught Ronan smiling. He didn’t say _but you’ll be cold now_ , because it was obvious, because Ronan had known he would get cold and he had given Adam his jacket anyway and Adam wasn’t sure what to do with that information except memorize how it felt on his shoulders.

It wasn’t long then before they arrived at Monmouth, and they took the stairs two at a time in their rush to escape the bite of the breeze that started on the last block of their walk. Ronan shoved the door open with one shoulder and stepped inside wordlessly, Adam close behind, shutting the door far more softly than Ronan might have. Ronan crossed the room and flicked on a few lamps as he went, basking the warehouse in a soft yellow glow that was somehow both completely out of place and perfectly fitting at once.

Ronan disappeared into his room for a moment, and when he emerged he was in a t-shirt and sweatpants and sock feet, carrying a sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. He padded across the room toward the couch and then threw himself down on one end, arching an eyebrow at Adam in challenge. Adam kicked off his shoes and sat down on the other side of the couch, albeit far more gently. Ronan held the sketchbook out, and Adam took it. 

“Draw me,” Ronan said, and Adam froze.

Cheeks burning, Adam stared down at his own hands. “Huh?”

On the other side of the couch, Ronan shifted into a slightly more comfortable position. “Draw me,” he repeated, stretching the syllables out far longer than necessary. “You need portrait practice. Draw. Me.”

Adam clenched his jaw. “If this is some _draw me like one of your French girls_ joke, I’m gonna kick your ass,” he said quietly.

Ronan just cocked his head. “The fuck are you talking about, Parrish?”

It made sense that Ronan had never seen Titanic. Adam hated how much sense it made. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Nevermind,” he breathed, opening the sketchbook and rifling through it till he landed a blank page. He didn’t focus too much on Ronan’s drawings, didn’t want to invade his privacy like that, but he was almost positive he had seen at least one drawing of himself in there. He didn’t comment on it; instead, he lifted his gaze to where Ronan was sprawled over the arm of the couch and said, quietly, “Fine.”

They were both quiet for a long time as Adam began to draw. Holding his pencil how Ronan had shown him the night before, he sketched out a few sloppy lines. He decided quickly that he liked drawing with charcoal far more than with a normal pencil — something about the texture felt better, felt _right_. He sketched out the rough lines of Ronan’s neck, the collar of his shirt, his jawline. Ronan’s eyes were closed and his breathing was even, but it was obvious that he was still awake by the tension in his shoulders, the set of his mouth. Without thinking about it, Adam outlined his lips in a smirk.

It was nice, Adam thought, to finally find himself in a moment where he was allowed — encouraged, even — to stare openly and unabashedly at Ronan. To study the natural arch of his brow, and the straight line of his nose, and the jut of his chin. The angle of his cheekbones, his prominent cupid’s bow. His head was tilted back and his arms were spread wide, granting Adam a perfect view of throat and shoulders and biceps. Adam took it in hungrily. Greedily. Each mark he made on the paper before him was precise and deliberate in a way only Adam Parrish could be, even here, even now.

It ended, as all things do. Ronan got bored or hungry or self-conscious, and he pushed himself up and snatched the sketchbook from Adam’s lap, eyeing it judgmentally. He reached out blindly and Adam handed him the pencil, letting his fingertips brush against Ronan’s bare palm, and they both shuddered. Ronan brought the pencil to his lips and bit down on it absentmindedly; Adam thought he was going to have a stroke.

“Not bad,” Ronan said after seconds or minutes or hours of staring at Adam’s sketch. “You started off a little heavy-handed, and your technique can use a little work, but. Not bad.”

Blushing in spite of himself, Adam sunk into the couch slightly, crossing his legs. “Am I worthy of an A yet?” he asked, mostly joking. The look that Ronan shot him was anything _but_ joking.

“Yeah,” Ronan said, far too serious for the moment.

And then, like something out of a dream — or a movie, or a romance novel, or a Disney princess cartoon — Ronan was leaning forward, and his eyelashes were fluttering against his cheek, and his lips were a centimeter from Adam’s, and — it was happening, it was happening, it was _happening_ — they were about to kiss — Adam closed his eyes — he could feel Ronan’s breath against his own lips, they were so close —

The front door burst open with a crash that sent Adam running for cover.

Ronan jumped backward at the sound, scowling and flushing bright pink and breathing rather heavily. All things considered, that was a fair reaction; the noise _had_ been alarming. Adam also jumped backward, but he hadn’t stopped there — he actually went _over_ the arm of the couch, skittering away from the door until his back hit Gansey’s desk. His arms were raised in front of him, like he thought he might have to shield his body from something, even as he saw that it was only Gansey and Blue and Noah entering the building.

“Adam?” Blue said from where she was tucked against Noah’s side. She was obviously drunk, only upright with Noah’s help. “Are you… okay?”

On Noah’s other side, leaning heavily against his small frame, Gansey frowned. “Sorry, Parrish,” he slurred. “We didn’t mean to…” His words trailed off and his eyes went out of focus. He yawned pathetically.

Adam shook his head, slowly relaxing. “It’s fine,” he said, even though it wasn’t, even though his heart was nearly leaping from his ribcage. “I should, um, I should get going. I’ll see you guys… later.”

Standing up, Ronan looked like he might argue, but Gansey beat him to the punch. “No,” Gansey whined, undignified in his intoxication. “You should stay. Stay. Blue’s gonna stay, and we’re gonna make pancakes in the morning.”

“Pancakes,” Blue confirmed, nodding exaggeratedly. 

Between the two of them, Noah just looked tired. He exhaled through his nose and blinked at Adam.

Adam frowned. “I guess I can stay,” he said, and Gansey grinned. “If it’s okay with you two.” He glanced from Noah to Ronan and then back again.

“Fine with me,” Noah said, and despite how defeated he looked, his voice was upbeat.

Ronan grunted, just out of Adam’s sight. “Me too,” he said.

Gansey stood up a bit straighter then, smiling broadly. “Perfect!” he said, pushing off from Noah and taking a staggering step forward. Adam reached out and caught him before he could faceplant. “Adam can sleep in my bed!”

Noah murmured something to Blue and then walked her toward his room, still holding her up. Ronan approached Adam and Gansey and took one of Gansey’s arms, draping it over his shoulder. Adam mirrored the movement. Decisively, Ronan said, “Parrish doesn’t wanna spoon you, Gansey. Lay off.”

Gansey laughed as they walked him toward his bed, letting himself fall backward onto the mattress without a care in the world. As Adam untied his shoes and Ronan unbuttoned his shirt, Gansey said, “Well, where else can he sleep? Blue’s gonna take the couch, and she’s a girl, so you have to let her, Adam.”

Pulling one of Gansey’s shoes off, Adam snorted. “Don’t let Blue hear you say that,” he said, moving on to the second shoe. “She’ll take the floor on principle.” He pulled the other shoe off and sat back on his heels. “I’m fine with the floor.”

Ronan helped Gansey out of his button-up and left him in the white tee he wore underneath his uniform, then unbuckled Gansey’s belt in a detached manner, like there was nothing intimate about the action at all. To Adam he said quietly, definitively, “You can take my bed, Parrish.”

Adam rolled his eyes and walked to Gansey’s dresser, opening a drawer to select a pair of pajama pants for Gansey. Behind him, Ronan was removing Gansey’s chinos, and Adam preferred to remain facing in another direction until it was over. “It really doesn’t matter.”

When he finally turned around, the chinos were on the floor. He handed Gansey the flannel pajama bottoms and Gansey pulled them on lazily. On the other side of the bed, Ronan glared at Adam. “It matters,” he said, very nearly angry. 

“Fine,” Adam conceded before they could draw this into a real argument. “Whatever. Do you have any—?”

Ronan cut him off before he could finish his question. “Just take whatever you want from my dresser,” he said with a flippant wave of the hand. He busied himself with getting Gansey beneath his blankets and Adam slipped into his room, leaving the door cracked behind him as he switched on the light and went to the dresser.

Ronan’s clothes were slightly too big for Adam, the pants a little too long and the shirt a little loose around the shoulders, but they weren’t uncomfortable. Honestly, they were _more_ comfortable than Adam’s clothes, softer and sturdier and smelling like Ronan. He folded his dirty clothes and stacked them neatly on Ronan’s desk chair, sat his shoes on top of them, and then sat nervously on the edge of Ronan’s bed and waited.

Usually, when Ronan entered a room, he sucked the air out of it, but not tonight. Tonight, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, and Adam took in his first breath in he didn’t even know how long. “Hey,” he said, trying desperately not to make it weird and making it even weirder than he thought possible in one fell swoop.

His lips twisting into a small, private smile, Ronan replied, “Hey.”

He walked up to the bed, then, but instead of climbing into it, he grabbed one of the several pillows and threw it on the floor. “Just gonna get comfortable down here,” he muttered, pulling a blanket from the bed, and without thinking, Adam reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around Ronan’s wrist. They both stilled, Ronan staring at Adam’s hand on his arm and Adam staring at Ronan’s face.

“You can sleep in the bed,” Adam said, breathier than he intended. He relaxed his grip on Ronan’s wrist but didn’t let go entirely, giving Ronan the freedom to maintain the contact or pull away. Ronan didn’t move. “I just mean, it’s a king size bed. We can both sleep in it. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

“Weird,” Ronan repeated, still fixated on Adam’s hand on his skin. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re okay…”

“I’m fine,” Adam said, and to illustrate his point, he let go of Ronan’s hand and crawled across the bed, slipping under the covers near the wall.

Ronan watched Adam for a moment, something dark and complicated in his eyes, and then the expression passed. He stood and turned the light off, then walked back to the bed and pulled the comforter back so he could climb beneath it. It was hard to see him in the darkness, and even after Adam’s eyes adjusted, all he could really make out was the outline of Ronan’s face, the shape of his body where he laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

For several minutes, it was silent except for the hum of a fan and the rustle of blankets as Adam turned on his side, facing Ronan. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but everything felt electric. His lips remembered Ronan’s breath. His fingertips remembered Ronan’s wrist.

“Adam?” Ronan whispered after an unbearable amount of time.

“Yeah?” Adam whispered back.

There was a pause, and Adam got the idea that Ronan had meant to say something and decided against it. Finally, Ronan whispered, “Goodnight.”

Adam sighed. “Goodnight, Ronan,” he breathed, and almost immediately he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i hope you liked this chapter!! as promised, here is an explanation for why i've extended this work: i originally wrote this entire fic in about two and half days with very little sleep and copious amounts of caffeine. it was a little over 10k words and the beginning was one of my favorite things i had ever written, but i got bored near the end and rushed it. the last 4k words were really sloppy and hurried and made little sense, basically because i got impatient with myself and just wanted to finish something. but then i posted the first part, and i was met with such kind & enthusiastic comments that i knew i had to rewrite the ending! you guys deserved better! so i spent all of yesterday re-writing, and it became clear to me that my pacing was strange and stilted, so here we are! there will be one more chapter after this, hopefully posted within a day or two, and at the end of that chapter i'll have a lot of notes on the creation of this fic. as always, i hope you're doing well and staying safe, and you're welcome to come talk to me on tumblr, i'm @wespers ♡


	3. CHAPTER THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy! here it is, folks, the final chapter! it's actually a lot shorter than i expected it to be — had i known how short it would be, i probably would have just tacked it on to chapter two and been done with it. i thought about drawing it out more, but really, i didn't want to sacrifice quality for quantity — but that's a discussion for the end notes! anyway, hope you enjoy!

Adam had strange dreams that night: the woods again, vines wrapping around his arms and face, caressing him. It might have been a nightmare, but it was too comforting, like the forest was offering him protection or companionship or… but no, that didn’t make any sense. What made even less sense was that Ronan was there, and the trees were speaking to him, and he was speaking back. They conversed in Latin, and Adam caught little of the discussion, but one word continued to jump out at him: _Greywaren_. Eventually, Ronan turned to him, and he held out a hand. “ _Scio qui sis_ ,” he said.

When Adam woke, throat dry and hair damp with sweat, Ronan was gone.

Adam wanted to say he was surprised, but he really wasn’t. 

After breakfast at Monmouth (from which Ronan was conspicuously absent) and two six-hour shifts, he locked up the office at Boyd’s and headed out into the parking lot just to be greeted by Ronan Lynch in his BMW. The headlights flashed twice, the closest Ronan would come to saying _come here_ , and Adam walked his bike over warily. Neither boy spoke till the bike was in the back and Adam was sliding into the passenger’s seat.

“I didn’t know we had a study session tonight,” Adam said flatly.

Ronan shifted gears and sped out of the parking lot. “We don’t,” he said, and that was that.

They passed the turn for St. Agnes. They passed the turn for Monmouth. Adam wanted to ask where it was they were headed, but he knew it was no use; if Ronan wanted to tell him, he would. This was what it was to spend time with Ronan Lynch: watching a storm roll in and ignoring your umbrella, sitting back and letting the rain drench you.

Adam wasn’t very good at letting things happen, but he was getting better.

Eventually, they took a turn too fast and the rear tires spun out, and Adam grabbed the handle above his door as Ronan calmly and confidently maneuvered the vehicle back into the right lane. In the chaos, the headlights illuminated a peeling sign announcing their entrance into Singer’s Falls.

 _Oh_ , thought Adam. _The Barns._

Ronan Lynch’s childhood home was a vast estate half an hour out of Henrietta, acres upon acres of land and a grand farmhouse known endearingly as the Barns. Upon their father’s death, all three Lynch brothers had been banned from ever returning to the Barns, but Ronan had somehow solved that problem. Adam didn’t know, and he didn’t ask, but he wondered about it sometimes. He had been to the Barns once, their group of friends accompanying Ronan on an illegal trip before he was allowed to return, but he hadn’t been back since Ronan had more-or-less moved back in.

The idea that Ronan was taking him there, taking him to his most sacred place, taking Adam _home_ , was a wonderful and terrifying and unimaginable thing.

There was a loud crack of thunder just as they turned down the driveway, and by the time they were parked haphazardly in the gravel by the house, the rain was coming down in sheets. Adam was amazed that Ronan had managed to park in the right place with so little visibility, but it wasn’t so strange; Ronan had grown up here. He probably knew every inch of the property by heart. Could probably navigate his way from his bedroom to the furthest barn and back again with his eyes closed.

How Adam ached for that sort of effortless familiarity. How it frightened him.

“We’re gonna have to run for it,” Ronan informed him, unbuckling his seatbelt. His hand came to rest on the door handle. “Count of three.”

Adam nodded, unbelting himself and mirroring Ronan’s position. “One,” he said.

Ronan’s lips twisted darkly. “Two.”

They turned their heads in the same moment, identical smirks on their faces. When they locked eyes, Adam had the ridiculous notion to kiss him, but instead they both whispered _three_ at the same time and opened their doors, bolting from the car.

It was only a few yards from the Beemer to the shelter of the porch, but by the time Adam stumbled up the steps, right on Ronan’s heels, they were both soaked. They paused by the front door as Ronan rummaged in his pockets for his keys, and Adam shook out his hair, and then they were both laughing.

They laughed as they shoved into the house, laughed as they kicked off their wet shoes and socks and shrugged out of their soaked hoodies. Laughed some more as they wandered up the stairs to Ronan’s room, as he found them towels and dry clothes. Adam didn’t stop laughing till he was alone in the bathroom, dropping his wet jeans in the bathtub and towelling off.

When he was changed into a t-shirt that was too loose in the shoulders and sweatpants that were too long and black socks that were too big, Adam went to go find Ronan. He was not in his bedroom, or the kitchen, dining room, or living room; Adam finally found him on the porch, leaning against the railing even as the rain blew into his face and peppered his fresh clothes with water droplets.

Wordlessly, Adam joined him. He knew he was going to get wet again, but he didn’t care, because Ronan had more dry clothes in the house and obviously he had brought Adam here to _say_ something. Adam could stand in the rain and wait for Ronan to say it. He could wait forever.

And so they stood there, and neither of them said anything, and Adam thought _I can wait. Whatever it is, I can wait for it. He has something to say, and I have something to hear, and I can wait._

But really, hadn’t Ronan been saying something all along? The ride home from school, _I can help you_ , the french fries, _You’re holding the pencil wrong._ Ronan sleeping on Adam’s floor, Adam sleeping in Ronan’s bed. The jacket, the almost-kiss, and this, here, the Barns. Ronan had already said all he had to say. It was Adam’s turn.

“Adam?” Ronan said then, and when Adam looked at him, his face was so honest and open and vulnerable that Adam could hardly stand it. Adam stepped toward him, cupped Ronan’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

Ronan did not kiss like he fought or like he raced; he kissed like he loved, which was to say softly, and deeply, and intensely. He kissed like he worshipped, which was to say wholly, and reverently, and passionately.

He kissed like he had been waiting his entire life for that moment, and maybe he had.

When Adam pulled away to breathe, his hands stayed pressed to Ronan’s face, and Ronan turned his head slightly to kiss Adam’s palm. It was too tender, too soft. Adam’s heart hurt, but in a good way, he thought.

“I thought you hated me,” Adam whispered, because there were a thousand thoughts rushing through his head and that was by and far the safest one to voice out loud.

Ronan’s eyelashes fluttered, and he nuzzled against Adam’s hands. “I never hated you,” he said, and it was the truth. “Everything would have been easier if I had hated you.”

It might have hurt, except nothing could hurt in that moment. Adam’s heart was a flighty thing, singing in his chest. It took him a moment to realize that the warmth enveloping his body was _happiness_ , and once the idea took hold, it was nearly uncomfortable, but he fought the urge to run, and after a few moments, it melted away into something altogether unknown and unfamiliar but nevertheless wonderful. “No,” he said, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. “No, it wouldn’t have been easier at all.”

Ronan returned his smile, his cheeks turning pink, and pulled Adam in for another kiss.

They stayed there for a while, kissing and laughing and pausing again and again to rest their foreheads together, until the wind became too strong and their clothes were wet once again and Ronan was pushing Adam back inside. “You’re gonna get sick,” he grumbled, slamming the door. “You can’t afford that shit.”

Adam laughed, but it wasn’t really a laugh — it was too raw and joyful. Ronan walked backward till the backs of his knees hit the couch and he laid down, stretching his legs out, motioning for Adam to join him. Adam was more than happy to oblige.

“I want to—” Adam began, interrupting himself by bringing his mouth back to Ronan’s jaw. “Your tattoo. I want to see it.” 

Ronan huffed out a laugh, or maybe he had just forgotten to breath; it was hard to tell. He pushed Adam back and then pulled off his shirt, and they both politely ignored the blushes rising on each other’s faces. “Okay,” Ronan said, and he twisted over onto his stomach.

 _I can have this_ , Adam thought as he reached out to trace the top edges of Ronan’s tattoo. _I can_ have _this._

The tattoo crept across Ronan’s shoulders, and Adam’s fingers followed it, soft and tentative in their exploration. When he felt the raised, rough skin of scars, he paused, but the answer came to him before he could ask the question: Chainsaw. Her talons broke the skin every time she came to sit on Ronan’s shoulders, but he never once shrugged her off or brushed her away. He accepted the pain and met it with tenderness, because that was how he loved.

Ridiculously, Adam wanted to cry.

He continued to trace the strange twists and turns of the tattoo, the hooks and vines and blades. It reminded Adam of the dreams he had been having lately, Ronan and the forest that spoke Latin. It reminded him of Ronan himself, how he was just as much thorn as he was rose. It reminded him of himself, in a way he could not even attempt to vocalize.

“Unguibus et rostro,” he whispered, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of Ronan’s spine.

Slowly, lazily, Ronan reached a hand back to grab Adam’s wrist. His grip was loose as he tugged Adam’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to Adam’s knuckles, the act so worshipful and _devout_ that Adam could only blink his eyes closed and let it happen.

“Adam,” Ronan breathed after a second, and Adam moved to let him roll over onto his back again, let Ronan take him by the hips and pull him till he was laying with his head on Ronan’s chest, one of Ronan’s arms slung over his back. 

Adam’s brain-to-mouth filter was gone, kissed away by Ronan Lynch and his soft, warm mouth. “Was it always me?” he asked, ridiculously insecure despite the rapid _thump thump thump_ of Ronan’s heart beneath his palm.

Brushing a hand through Adam’s hair, Ronan hummed indulgently. “It was always you,” he confirmed. “I don’t do anything halfway, Parrish.”

Electricity hummed through Adam’s veins. _I wouldn’t love you if you did_ , he thought. Aloud, he said, “Me neither.”

Ronan swallowed. “So, are we…?”

Adam leaned in and kissed him, soft and dizzyingly slow. “Yeah,” he said. “We are.”

Still brushing a hand through Adam’s hair, Ronan sighed contentedly. His touches were disarmingly gentle, even in comparison to the kissing, and Adam couldn’t help but sigh, too. Any tension that had remained in his body till this point melted away. He blinked his eyes shut.

“Ronan,” whispered Adam, and he fell asleep like that, with Ronan brushing a hand through his hair with all the tenderness Adam had never experienced.

When Adam woke the next morning, Ronan was still there.

Ronan dropped out before the semester ended. He made it all the way to Thanksgiving, past his eighteenth birthday, but in the end, it just wasn’t for him. He couldn’t do it — or rather, he _could_ , but he didn’t _want_ to, and that was as good a reason as any to drop out. Gansey had been upset and Declan had been apoplectic, but Adam…

“You’re not stupid, Lynch,” said Adam from his desk. He didn’t look over at where Ronan sprawled on his bed, tossing a ball of rubber bands into the air and then catching it repeatedly. “And you’re not nearly as self-destructive as you used to be.”

Ronan’s frown was detectable in his voice, even with Adam turned away. “Thanks?”

Adam scribbled out the answer to his physics problem and sighed, twisting in his chair till his back popped. “I just mean, you’re not doing this for the wrong reasons. You’re not dropping out because you’re lazy, or because you want to ruin your life.” He did look at Ronan then, but Ronan was staring pointedly at the ceiling. “I’m saying I support you, dumbass.”

It was clear that Ronan hadn’t been expecting that reply, but he hid his surprise so quickly that nearly anyone wouldn’t have even seen it (but Adam wasn’t just anyone). “Yes, you sound very supportive,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm, but the underlying current was so obviously _thank you thank you thank you_ that Adam couldn’t even play along.

“Gonna miss you,” Adam said instead, quietly, aimed more at his notebook than at Ronan.

Ronan snorted. “Not gonna lose me,” he said, pausing in his throwing and catching. “But I know what you mean.”

What Adam _meant_ was that he was going to miss riding to school with Ronan and riding home with Ronan and eating lunch with Ronan. He would miss Ronan in Latin and Ronan in art and Ronan in the hallways. He would still have Gansey, he would always have Gansey, but it was impossible to maneuver around the fact that there would be a giant Ronan-shaped hole in Aglionby. Ronan understood this, and he felt the same way, but it had to happen, and they both knew there was no point in trying to stop it.

“We’ll make it work,” Adam said with a half a shrug. He said it — and believed it — with an easy confidence he never would have imagined possible before being with Ronan. “You’ll come here. I’ll go to the Barns. And there’s always Monmouth.”

Chucking the rubber band ball at the wall, Ronan sat up. He missed the ball when it bounced back toward him an it hit the crate beside Adam’s mattress before rolling across the floor. “And I can come see you at the garage,” he added, smiling like a razor’s edge and wiggling his eyebrows.

Adam rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna get me fired,” he said, but there was no resolve to it. In reality, Boyd had never even seen Ronan at the garage, let alone found out he’d been there; and even if he had, since Adam got his work done and did it well, he most likely wouldn’t mind. 

“Well, we can’t have that.” Ronan licked his lips. “I only like you because you’re a mechanic. Lose that job and we’re through.”

Once upon a time, that was a comment that would have stung — now it was laughable. And because it was laughable, Adam did laugh, loud and free. “We need to talk about your mechanic fetish,” he said, unable to keep a straight face even as he turned most of his attention back to his homework. “Seriously. The objectification of my occupation is no laughing matter, Lynch. In a capitalist society—” He was cut off as Ronan threw a pillow at him.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, _Sargent_ ,” Ronan groaned from the bed. “If you wanna talk about fetishes, then maybe we can have a discussion about your sexualization of the Beemer—”

“ _My_ sexualization of the Beemer?” Adam demanded, throwing his pillow back at Ronan. “Oh, please, it was _your_ idea—”

Ronan scoffed. “Sure, blame _me_ —”

“Oh, I do.”

At some point, because it was bound to happen, the bickering dissolved into a heated makeout session, and then bickering again, and then they fell asleep, curled around each other in Adam’s tiny twin-sized mattress. When Adam dreamed of the forest, Ronan was there, and when Adam woke up, Ronan was there, too.

Adam got an A in art that semester after all, and the semester after that, too. He was accepted into Harvard and he graduated from Aglionby as valedictorian, and if he took a second to thank “the very hands-on tutor who saved his GPA” during his graduation speech, well, only a few people in the audience would really understand what he was saying.

(Ronan didn’t go to graduation, but when Adam came home to the Barns that night, they had their own celebration. It involved burning shit, bantering in Latin, and some more of that hands-on tutoring that Adam thought of so fondly, and when he woke up the next morning, and every morning after that, Ronan was still there).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i hope you liked it! thank you so much for sticking around till the end ♡ i actually have a lot to say about this fic, but it isn't super pressing, so if you don't care about me or the creation of this fic (which is totally valid, i'm not vague-ing you, i don't mind at all) you can stop reading now! but if you are invested in me/the creation of this fic or if you're just bored, here's some info i'd like to share!
> 
> first of all, i wrote the majority of this fic in one sitting. as i mentioned in the notes in ch. 2, the original ending was very rushed and sloppy, so i re-wrote the end. i cut a lot of the original scenes from the second half, like a ridiculously self-indulgent 2k scene that's just adam and ronan getting high at the litchfield party (yes, in an alternate timeline, they went to the party). i also wrote the climax scene (the get-together at the barns) three different times, taking place in three different locations, before i settled on the barns. i could probably be persuaded to post the cut scenes & alternate endings, but they really do suck and the characterizations in those scenes are sloppy, so i don't think you'll be too interested in those.
> 
> second, i have a problem with finishing fics. like, a BIG problem. i sort of get it in my head that the endings will be disappointing and anticlimactic, so i have a really bad habit of just... never finishing. i was tempted to DNF this simply because the reception to the first two chapters was so enthusiastic that i felt like there was no way this chapter could live up to that. honestly, i'm still not sure this chapter absolutely did you all justice, but i'm finally convincing myself that it's worse not to finish a fic, so i forced myself to end this, and i'm crossing my finger that it's the ending y'all (and adam and ronan) deserve. i'm already toying with the idea of writing an epilogue to this, so if you're disappointed with this ending, let me know and i'll see what i can do! 
> 
> also, just a brief thing, but this fic includes SO many references to my other works that it's honestly just funny. they obviously don't all take place in the same universe but i have so many random things connecting each fic... i would try to list them all but i have so many unposted & unfinished works that are referenced in here that i would never be able to remember what you guys would recognize and what you wouldn't. but if you've read some of my other stuff and you thought something here seemed familiar from another one of my fics... yeah, it was (mostly) on purpose. 
> 
> and last but certainly not least, i really just want to say thank you for how kind you've all been to me since i first posted chapter one!!! i've been pretty lucky to have really nice readers on my fics since i started a few months ago, but y'all really blew me away with your kindness this time! so to all of you that read, commented, and/or left kudos, thank you forever!!! i'm working on replying to all the comments now, but i just really wanna say thank you to all of you as a whole for being so positive and encouraging. i know this wasn't a huge fic (and i have two big WIPs that really deserve more of my attention right now) but it was a _process_ actually finishing this and i wouldn't have committed to it as strongly as i did without y'all's enthusiasm! so yeah! thank you!
> 
> as always, y'all are always welcome to come talk to me on tumblr, i'm @wespers and i am but a humble adam parrish lovebot and gifmaker. you're welcome to send requests, become my friend, lurk my blog and hate-like all my personal posts... the world is yours. i hope you're all doing well and staying safe, and i'm sending you all my love ♡


	4. bonus content ♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exactly two people expressed interest in the ronan-and-adam-getting-high-at-litchfield scene that i cut, so here we go! i didn't edit this, so it's super sloppy, but i did cut a couple paragraphs from the beginning because it just... wouldn't have made sense to anybody other than me. also, it's technically two different scenes because the second part was originally written as a flashback, but whatever. the conversation they have in this scene somewhat made its way into the final draft. i only cut this because i decided i didn't want them to go to the party. this isn't an epilogue or anything, it's just very self-indulgent and a couple of y'all were interested. anyway, hope you enjoy! ♡

The only thing that made it more bearable was the fact that it obviously wasn’t Ronan’s scene, either. As soon as they showed up, Gansey disappeared up the stairs hand in hand with Henry Cheng, Blue hot on their heels, leaving Adam and Ronan to exchange exasperated looks in the entryway. When Ronan exhaled through his nose and plunged into the crowd, Adam followed without a second thought.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea for Ronan, and Adam stayed close enough behind him that he benefited from it as well. They passed through a few dark, loud, pulsing rooms, pausing just long enough for Ronan to talk quietly to someone and take something in his hands before continuing on. In the end, Ronan shoved open the sliding glass doors and led them into the backyard, away from the pounding music and smoky haze and into the chilly darkness.

“Fuck, I hate parties,” Adam mumbled as he sunk into a patio chair, arms wrapped around himself. It was colder than he had been expecting, and he didn’t have a jacket; he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

Standing a few feet away, Ronan rolled something between his fingers: a joint. He stuffed one hand deep into the pocket of his leather jacket and removed it a few seconds later, grasping a black Zippo lighter. “Me too,” he said, lighting the joint. Adam watched curiously.

Ronan took a long hit, and Adam couldn’t help but stare at his mouth, the way his lips parted around the end. He held it for a moment and then blew the smoke out, his lips pink and damp. He came to sit in the chair to Adam’s right, where he knew Adam preferred to keep other people, and then held the joint out in offering. “Wanna try?”

No. Yes. Maybe. Adam thought about the fact that Ronan’s mouth had just been there and now his could be too. It wasn’t a good reason to do it, not really, but one hit wasn’t gonna kill him. Without a word, he took the joint from Ronan’s hand, letting their fingers brush, and then took a hit.

The first thing his mind registered had nothing to do with the joint at all — it was the way that Ronan was watching him, his gaze flicking from Adam’s hand to his eyes to his mouth. The way Ronan’s eyes honed in on Adam’s lips when he put the joint between them and breathed in. The second thing his mind registered was that it didn’t taste bad but it wasn’t good, really, either. The third thing he registered was that his chest fucking hurt.

Still, he managed to hold it in for as long as Ronan had, and when he exhaled he didn’t even cough. It was a funny thing to be proud of, but he was proud of it anyway (or maybe that was the weed talking, maybe he was already high, what did he know?). He passed the joint to Ronan again and then leaned his head back until he could blink lazily at the stars.

“Lightweight,” Ronan murmured, half-joking, before taking another hit.

Adam couldn’t help but agree. He opened his mouth to say so, but what came out instead was “Why do you hate me?”

The question must have surprised Ronan; he choked loudly, doubling over. When he finally managed to catch his breath, he barely managed a strained “What?” before he was coughing again.

Adam watched with muted interest. “You’ve always hated me,” he said, and even as he said it he realized that it wasn’t necessarily true. “I was just wondering why.”

Ronan finally sucked in a deep breath and let the cool air relax his lungs, and the look he shot Adam was surprisingly gentle. “I don’t hate you,” he said hoarsely. “God, I wish it were that easy.”

There was a weird sort of tingling feeling in Adam’s fingers, and he flexed them in an attempt to make it stop. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means—” Ronan began, and then he shook his head and took another hit. “Fuck. It means whatever the fuck you want it to mean, Parrish.”

Adam _wanted_ it to mean that Ronan liked him, liked him in the same way that Adam liked Ronan, but that was too easy. It was too easy. Nothing in real life was that easy, that perfect. Adam reached out and took the joint from him, took another hit without thinking about it. “That’s not how it works,” he said, or maybe he just thought it, because Ronan didn’t respond besides to pluck the joint from Adam’s lips and place it between his own. Adam exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the air around them.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really fucking difficult?” Ronan said after a long pause.

It probably should have stung, but it didn’t. Not really. Adam just shrugged, rolling his eyes toward the sky once again. “Has anyone ever told you that _you’re_ really fucking difficult?”

Ronan laughed, the sound dark and warm and _everything_. “Yes, they have, Parrish,” he said, stretching his legs in front of him. “Yes, they have.”

“Parrish,” Ronan said, grabbing Adam’s arm and hauling him up. “Come on, dude, it’s time to go.”

“Ngh,” replied Adam, like a petulant child. “No, Gansey can’t see me like this.”

Ronan smirked. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“He can’t know I’m not perfect.” Adam rubbed a hand against his eyes, frowning.

“And I can? How does that work?”

Adam sighed, finally giving in and allowing Ronan to lead him across the yard. Just before they reached the back door of Litchfield House, Adam said, “You already know I’m not perfect. You don’t care either way."

With a smile that seemed almost… soft… Ronan reached out and patted Adam on the shoulder. “Fair enough,” he said, and then they were walking inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to you by my own bad personal decisions ♡

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! i was originally going to post this entire thing all at once, because it is (technically finished), but editing is a bitch and i'm thinking about adding a few scenes to the last part, so i decided to just post this part and get it out of the way now. title comes from the anchor by bastille, and as always you're welcome to come interact with me on tumblr, i'm @wespers :)


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